The Winter Sister(10)

“Uh, yes,” Jill said. “Well, that’s not the only cause of it, but . . . alcoholism can definitely be a factor.”

My heart contracted. I tried to imagine my mother’s face as the doctor told her the news, but whether her expression was one of fear or anxiety or relief, I couldn’t tell; in my mind, she kept looking away.

“How long does she have?” I asked.

Again, there was a pause from Jill’s end.

“She’s starting chemo next week,” she said. “Then, depending on how that goes, there might be another round before, hopefully, she can have surgery.”

“Oh,” I said. “Okay.”

“It’s not a death sentence just yet, Sylvie. But, I’ll be honest—it doesn’t look good.”

I nodded, staring at the goose bumps that had risen to the surface of my skin. I wanted a sweater. I wanted my blankets and pillows. I wanted to crawl into bed.

“I’m going to be staying with her during the treatment,” Jill continued, “in her house. But if you want to stop by sometime soon, that would be great. I’m sure she’d be happy to see you.”

I heard, more than felt, myself chuckle. “No, she wouldn’t,” I said, and I loved Jill then for not trying to argue otherwise.

“Well,” she said. “You should get back to your night. I’m sorry about the terrible timing, but I didn’t want to wait too long to tell you.”

“It’s okay,” I said. “I’m glad you told me.”

“Let’s talk more about this soon, okay? Will you call me if you have any questions?”

“Sure.”

“Okay, Sylvie. Good night. Happy birthday.”

In her last few words, there was a tinge of sadness that I knew was more than grief about my mother. I should have said more to her, asked her more questions—the whole conversation was over so quickly—and yet, it was exhausting trying to be what Aunt Jill expected of me. I couldn’t pretend that, just by turning thirty, I was old enough now to have outgrown my feelings of motherlessness.

I knew that Jill understood, on some level, what those years had been like for me, but she hadn’t lived them like I’d lived them. She couldn’t know the ache of remembering how my mother didn’t fight for me that first year, when Jill had declared that until Mom got her act together, I would stay with her and Missy. She never tried to get me back, never contacted Jill to see how I was doing. Every Sunday, when Jill and Missy and I went back to the house to check on her, stocking her cabinets with groceries and toiletries that Jill had bought with her own money, Mom cracked open her door, asked in a paper-thin voice if we’d brought any booze, and then shut us out again when we told her, our arms firmly crossed, no—no, we had not. “Well then what the hell did you come here for?” she yelled, a phrase that still jostled me out of sleep sometimes.

When I went back inside the bar, it took me only a few seconds to find Lauren. Her teal hair, which fell in loose curls around her shoulders, was like a spotlight in the dim room. She was talking to two guys in button-down shirts, each of them holding a beer, and when she saw me squeezing between the crowds of people, she began to laugh.

“Here she is!” she said, her voice straining to be heard over the music. “See, I told you the birthday girl exists!” She handed me a drink, something frothy and blue.

“Listen . . .” I started.

“Oh no you don’t!” Lauren interrupted. She looked at the guys. “This is classic Sylvie. Watch. She’s gonna try to go home early.”

“I’m really tired,” I said, moving so that I was standing between Lauren and the two guys. “Just—please. Don’t make a big deal out of this. Looks like you’ve already made some new friends, and you said Jake and Jenna are showing up in a little while.”

Something must have shown on my face. Lauren narrowed her eyes, and then pulled me away, using her elbows to create a space for us among the groups of people in the bar.

“What is it?” she asked, her forehead nearly touching mine. “Who was that call from?”

“My aunt. Nothing’s wrong. I’m just tired, like I said.”

She held my gaze before responding. “So you’re not upset about something?” Her mouth fell open, as if she’d figured it out. “Is it about your cousin’s baby? Is it okay?”

I forced myself to laugh. “No, no, the baby’s great. I’m serious, Lauren. I’m fine. I just think those shots were a little much for me.”

Lauren pursed her lips in thought, and then she nodded. “Well, that I believe. You’re such a lightweight, it’s embarrassing. Fine, okay, whatever. You go home and be eighty, and I’ll stay here with Rob and—hey! Where’d they go?”

She looked back at the space we’d just left, the two guys lost behind a group of college students wearing purple fraternity shirts.

“You’d better go find them,” I said. Reaching out to hug her, I added, “Be careful, okay?”

“Yeah, yeah. Okay, Mom,” she said, and we went our separate ways—me back to our cramped but cozy apartment, and Lauren back to the nighttime buzz of Providence, Rhode Island.

? ? ?

It took me a long time to fall asleep that night. I was even still awake when, sometime after two o’clock, our apartment door opened. Lauren’s heels clicked across the floor, followed by a thud as she tossed them off her feet. At the distinctive sound of chip bags opening, I considered getting up, putting my head in her lap on the couch, and telling her everything—or half of everything, anyway.